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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898116">Not All Monsters Are Beasts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigrape/pseuds/tardigrape'>tardigrape</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Witcher and His Bard [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Big fight scene, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Sex, Geralt and Triss are not a couple, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, just a badass fighting duo, mild spoilers for Betrayer Moon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,295</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardigrape/pseuds/tardigrape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Geralt learns that Jaskier has been kidnapped, he seeks out Triss Merigold to help get him back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Triss Merigold, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Witcher and His Bard [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591987</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>226</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not All Monsters Are Beasts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>New to this series? Need a recap? Read below!</p><p>Geralt and Jaskier began fucking almost as soon as they began traveling together. For Jaskier, it was always laden with feeling, with meaning. For Geralt, not so much. Three years after they met, Geralt declined to accompany Jaskier to a wedding feast in Cidaris, so the pair split up for the first time. Geralt's path then led him to Vizima, where he met Triss Merigold and broke the curse that had turned Foltest's daughter into a striga. Three more years elapsed before Geralt saw Jaskier again—enough time for him to realize the hole in his life where the bard had been. Their reunion was not entirely peaceful: Jaskier was angry and hurt that Geralt hadn't come to support him, hadn't wanted to stay with him when he wanted his own success. Yet they were back together, and that was all that mattered...for a time. Another few years passed, and Geralt once again left Jaskier behind, this time to spend the winter with Vesemir in Kaer Morhen. Jaskier, brokenhearted and malnourished, turned to his longtime lover Anne, the Countess de Stael. Anne nursed him back to health and helped heal his broken heart, but when spring came once again, Jaskier chased rumors until he found Geralt. This time Jaskier guarded his heart, insisting they were merely friends, and that he was tagging along because he couldn't resist the call of the road. But after the disaster of Princess Pavetta's betrothal in Cintra, Geralt pushed Jaskier away again, leaving him behind.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt sat by the fire, dragging his fingers through his tangled hair, teasing apart the snarls. Jaskier used to do this for him, and when he did it, it felt divine. When Geralt did it, it felt like having his scalp ripped off.</p><p>“What do you suppose he’s up to these days?” Geralt asked Roach. She munched grass in response. Geralt smiled. “Probably singing in some royal court somewhere, right? Getting fat and carving notches in his bedpost.” Roach whickered. “Oh, fuck off,” Geralt replied. “Why would I be jealous of some noble fop?”</p><p>Roach’s large, dark eyes caught the glint of the firelight. Geralt sighed. “All right then, maybe a little. But what was I supposed to do, keep him with me? You heard Vesemir.” Roach went back to munching grass. “Anyway, Vesemir didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know. Lost count of the number of scrapes I had to haul that boy out of. Not like life on the road is easy.” Geralt snorted. “And his chasing after every pretty face didn’t help.”</p><p>Roach took a step away from the fire. “Oh, come on,” Geralt said. “I told you, it’s not jealousy. It’s just…I can’t always be there to protect him. And being near me meant he needed so much more protection.” Geralt plucked several long white hairs from beneath his fingernails. “He would have died by my side, eventually, one way or another.”</p><p>Geralt had been surprised, once, at the shuddering cold the thought of Jaskier’s death raised in his chest. He had not recognized the feeling, at first. He had known witchers had some feeling, of course, but small ones, mostly anger or satisfaction. Things that helped them know when a fight needed to start or when it was over. So this wicked chill, this crushing tightness, had puzzled him for a while.</p><p>He had teased it out, taking note of the feeling whenever it arose. It followed an ambush by drowners when he and Jaskier were moving between towns, as the drowners had risen up behind Jaskier, who was blissfully unaware, and Geralt had to quickly beat them back, their claws raking the edges of Jaskier’s sleeve. It had arisen when bandits surrounded their camp one night, hoping for easy pickings, and Geralt had woken up just in time to stop a man from drawing his dagger across Jaskier’s throat. It had clutched at him when Jaskier, unable to hold back his curiosity, had stepped too close to an archespore, and Geralt had used nearly every herbal remedy he had on him to keep the poison from spreading as he rode at a hard gallop to the nearest healer, Jaskier slung across the saddle in front of him.</p><p>Finally, Geralt realized what the feeling was. It was fear. Geralt had not known he could feel fear. But then, Jaskier made him feel a lot of things he had not known he could feel.</p><p>“I know I was angry when I told him to leave me alone,” Geralt said to Roach, sighing. “I could have chosen better timing. But you know how hard it is to convince him to go. I couldn’t just tell him to fuck off. He never listens.” Geralt frowned into the firelight, the sound of Roach chomping grass soothing the edges of his regret. “He’s better off without me. It’s as Vesemir said. By my side, Jaskier is a target. Not just for monsters, but for men who want to twist me to their bidding. Alone, he’s safe.”</p><p>Roach whickered again. But there was another sound, fainter and more distant. Geralt cocked his head, listening. Running feet.</p><p>He jumped to his feet, drawing his steel sword, and dropped into a defensive stance. A skinny boy skidded to a stop in front of him moments later, his eyes huge, focused on Geralt’s sword.</p><p>“W-witcher Geralt?” The boy swallowed, still staring at Geralt’s blade. Geralt grunted. “The a-alderman told me you were nearby. I-I’m to give you this message. Mistress said it was a matter of life and death.” The boy held out a parchment in a shaking hand.</p><p>Geralt lowered his sword and took the parchment. The boy squeaked and ran.</p><p>Geralt sat again, sheathing his sword, and read the parchment.</p><p>
  <em>Geralt,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’ve never met, but you’re the only one who can help. Jaskier has been kidnapped. Armed men stormed into my home and took him away. They bound and gagged him. I think they might have hurt him. They told me Margrave Horace of Vanir in Kaedwin sends his regards.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know this Margrave Horace, or how Jaskier might have made an enemy of him. I do know you are a gifted fighter and are acquainted with others who are similarly talented. Please help Jaskier. You traveled together all those years, you must care about him at least a little.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please, I beg you. Save our Jaskier.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Signed,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Countess Anne Mireille de Stael</em>
</p><p>Geralt crumpled the parchment in his fist, jumped on Roach’s back, and was miles down the road before he stopped reacting and began to think. The spreading, shuddering cold in his chest merely growled <em>Jaskier in danger</em> in a repeating refrain, but his rational brain was shoving it aside, insisting that he stop and consider the situation. Jaskier had his fair share of enemies, certainly, but they were nearly all cuckolds, save for a few jealous bards. This Horace, whoever he was, had sent men to kidnap Jaskier, to spirit him away, not to kill him. That spoke of intrigue, of plot, not of red-tinged revenge.</p><p>Geralt pulled Roach to a stop and sat in the middle of the road, thinking. Perhaps he was wrong, perhaps this was just a jealous lover serving Jaskier his just deserts. But perhaps Vesemir had been more right than he knew. Jaskier’s ballads had spread across the continent, and now everyone knew of the Witcher and the Bard, the traveling duo who went on grand adventures together. Someone wanting to get to Geralt might, quite rightly, do so through Jaskier. And here he was, hurtling right into their trap.</p><p>And anyway, he didn’t know who Margrave Horace was or just where Vanir was located. Geralt had to admit it. He needed help.</p><p>By the time the sun was peeking over the horizon, Geralt was riding into Vizima. He found a stable for Roach and then slipped into the castle by a side door. No need to bother Foltest, who would no doubt slow things down considerably as he relayed everything that had happened to his daughter in the years since they’d last seen each other.</p><p>Instead, Geralt crept up the stairs to the rooms he knew housed Triss Merigold. He knocked softly on the door, then a bit harder when his soft knock got no answer.</p><p>Triss pulled the door open, her hair mussed and her eyes puffy with sleep. Those eyes widened at the sight of Geralt, looming in the doorway. He found himself at a loss for words.</p><p>“Triss,” he said stupidly. Her eyebrows rose. “I, um. I need your help.”</p><p>Triss opened the door fully to admit him, then closed it and turned to face him. He realized she was wearing a thin shift under a woven robe. He glanced away. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, to be honest,” she said.</p><p>Geralt shrugged. “I need help.”</p><p>“Yes, you said that already. Doing what?”</p><p>“A rescue.”</p><p>Triss snorted an incredulous laugh. “Have you become a knight errant?”</p><p>Geralt growled. “There isn’t time for this. My bard has been kidnapped. Do you know of Margrave Horace of Vanir?”</p><p>Triss’s expression darkened. “Yes. A vicious and calculating man, although perhaps a bit dim.” She bit her lip. “Your bard—that’s Viscount de Lettenhove? Otherwise known as Jaskier?”</p><p>Geralt’s eyebrows rose. “You know him?”</p><p>“Of course I know him.” Triss scoffed. “Do you truly have no idea what a Brotherhood sorceress does?”</p><p>“Magic?”</p><p>Triss waved a hand. “As required, yes. But in order to serve my court I must understand all the machinations of the country, as well as those of its enemies and allies. Not only is Jaskier nobility, he has renown across the continent.” She narrowed her eyes. “As do you.” Triss bit her lip. “Yes, this almost certainly is a plot. Involving the bard is unusual, but could have proven effective.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Had you not had the sense to come to me, that is.”</p><p>“So you’ll help me?” The cold fear in Geralt’s chest eased somewhat, its grip loosening.</p><p>“Yes, of course.” Triss said this so matter-of-factly that Geralt was caught off guard. He made a mental note to tread carefully. Sorceresses never did favors.</p><p>Triss was already stuffing potion vials, trinkets, and talismans in a bag. “Horace is a margrave in northern Kaedwin, on the border with Kovir,” she explained as she packed. “He has a manor not far from Yspaden.”</p><p>Geralt frowned. “Near Blaviken.”</p><p>Triss looked up. “About a day’s ride from Blaviken.” She cocked her head. “Related, do you think?”</p><p>“Stregobor ever mention this Horace?” Geralt asked.</p><p>“Not that I recall.” Triss stepped behind a trifold screen, her robe and shift folding softly over the top of the screen moments later. Geralt shifted his weight, trying not to think about the naked sorceress behind the screen.</p><p>Quite quickly, she reappeared, dressed in trousers, a blouse and jerkin, and a thick traveling cloak. “We’ll form our plan on the road, yes?” she said, hoisting the bag over her shoulder.</p><p>Geralt grinned. He’d come to the right person for help.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier was certain Geralt would come for him.</p><p>He didn’t understand this certainty. He hadn’t seen Geralt in well over a year. He had almost stopped thinking about him, almost stopped waking at night groaning, his hands closing over white hair that wasn’t there. He had almost stopped pricking up his ears anytime he was in town, listening for news of the White Wolf, of the fearsome witcher. He had almost stopped caring.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>And then, when eight armed and armored men smashed in Anne’s door and kicked over her things, Jaskier had surrendered to them quickly. They were there for him. He would give them no reason to harm Anne. He had learned, with Geralt, to take a hit, to absorb a blow. Anne had not.</p><p>How long ago that day seemed now. Jaskier flexed his fingers. They had been numb for quite some time. Oddly, he missed the days his captors had spent hauling him to this place, this dungeon. At least, on the road, he’d had some use of his limbs. Sure, they’d been tied together, and the ropes burned into his wrists and ankles. But at least he could move.</p><p>Here, in this dripping, cold, dark prison, he was absolutely stuck. His hands were cuffed to the wall above his head. The metal of the restraints tore at the burns on his wrists. At least his feet were free. Not that he could stand, chained as he was. Even if he were not chained, he wasn’t certain any longer that he could stand if he tried. His captors had kicked him repeatedly, and he felt sure some of his ribs were broken.</p><p>He leaned his head back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. Geralt would come. Geralt would know, in that witcher way of his. His medallion would hum, or he’d sniff the wind and catch Jaskier’s scent. Or perhaps Jaskier would visit him in his dreams. When Jaskier drifted out of consciousness, Geralt’s face swam before him. Perhaps his did the same for Geralt.</p><p>A metallic scraping sounded, but Jaskier ignored it. The door to his cell creaked on its hinges as it opened, and heavy footfalls sounded, coming to a stop before him. Jaskier kept his eyes closed. He knew his witcher’s steps. These were not his.</p><p>A booted foot kicked Jaskier’s bare sole. “Food and water, whoreson,” the gruff voice of his guard said.</p><p>Jaskier let the man tip water into his mouth and shove in a crust of bread. He had resisted this, once. Dried blood still coated his chin from the gash in his lip where they’d hit him. He did not resist again.</p><p>His guard left, and Jaskier considered his position. They took no gentle care of him, but they ensured he ate and drank every day. They were keeping him alive. To what end? They had asked him no questions. They had made no demands.</p><p>Ransom, then. Or extortion. They would keep him chained to this wall until their demands to someone else were met.</p><p>Or until Geralt arrived. Geralt would save him.</p>
<hr/><p>The plan, such as it was, was quite loose. Geralt insisted they not use fire spells or signs, given that they couldn’t be certain where Jaskier was being held, and they didn’t want to risk setting the place alight. Triss would conceal herself in order to take the margrave by surprise, if necessary. Geralt would avail himself of all necessary potions and generally kill anything between himself and Jaskier, using signs as necessary to divine the bard’s location. The rest, they’d figure out as they went.</p><p>Geralt wanted to ride at full gallop to the margrave’s manor, but Triss refused, insisting that Jaskier was being used as bait, and thus was not in immediate danger. She had them stop several times along the way, visiting hedge witches and herbalists, gathering a wide variety of supplies and ingredients. By the time they reached the manor, her saddlebags were bulging, and she’d brewed as many potions as Geralt knew of, and then some.</p><p>Finally, the manor was in sight, illuminated by a bright moon. Geralt strode up the path to the door while Triss hung back in the shadows. She would save the invisibility spell until she was inside, as its effects did not last long. Geralt downed a vial of Thunderbolt as he approached the door, fingering the handful of other vials at his belt.</p><p>The manor was well guarded; two men in heavy armor flanked the door, polearms in their hands. They issued a challenge to Geralt, but a blast of aard sent them off their feet.</p><p>He drew his sword and kicked in the door. A guard leapt at him, but his pungent stench and thudding heart had given him away. Geralt easily sliced through his neck. Four of his compatriots rushed at Geralt down the hallway. Geralt swept the legs out from under one, swinging his blade as he did so to parry a blow from another, finally driving his sword through the gap in the armor of a third. He yanked his sword back out, bringing the pommel crashing into the nose of the fourth. The first guard had regained his feet and lunged at Geralt, along with the second, but Geralt sent them crashing back with another blast of aard. He finished them both with his sword before they could struggle back to their feet.</p><p>He strode down the hall, the soft sound of Triss’s footsteps behind him. Good. She was near. A line of guards appeared at the end of the hall, and Geralt readied his blade, but one of them called out to him. “Stop! White Wolf! The margrave does not wish to fight you. Please, come speak with him in the great hall.”</p><p>Geralt grunted, keeping his blade up, but behind him Triss whispered, “Let him lead you to him.” So Geralt nodded and lowered his blade. He stomped up to the guards and noisily followed them, ensuring his footfalls covered the sound of Triss’s movements.</p><p>Margrave Horace sat in a large, carved chair on a dais in the long hall, one leg draped over the side, a tankard dangling from his fingertips. He straightened when Geralt came in, and leaned forward in his chair.</p><p>“Geralt of Rivia,” he drawled. “The White Wolf.”</p><p>Geralt slowly walked forward, his muscles tense and ready. “What do you want?”</p><p>Horace studied his fingernails, drawing out the moments. Geralt used the time to size up the room. A dozen guards stood along the walls, and a dozen more hung in rooms and hallways just beyond the hall. But the margrave had begun to speak.</p><p>“There is a man in Blaviken. I believe you’ve met him. A mage.”</p><p>Geralt cocked his head. “Stregobor.”</p><p>“Yes, just so. I need you to kill him for me. Bring me his head as proof.”</p><p>“And why would I do that?”</p><p>Horace grinned wickedly. “Oh, I think you know why.”</p><p>“I want proof Jaskier’s here, alive and well. I want to see him.”</p><p>Horace snarled. “You don’t dictate the terms here, witcher.”</p><p><em>Enough</em>. Horace would talk, whether he wanted to or not. Geralt yanked Petri’s Philter from his belt, gulped it down, and cast axii as hard as he could at Horace. He saw the sign take hold, but only just, because the guards were now rushing him, and Geralt didn’t have time to give the margrave any commands.</p><p>He swung his blade up, arcing, slicing through flesh, then whirled and struck, bodies falling around him. The guards pressed close, trying to box him in, but a blast of aard solved that problem. Geralt cast quen as he leapt at the nearest man, whose sword bounced off the barrier. His eyes widened in surprise just before Geralt’s blade pierced his neck.</p><p>Geralt continued to swing, his sword driving through gaps in armor, the pommel occasionally staving in a helmet, but more guards were pouring into the hall, and he couldn’t keep casting signs indefinitely. “Triss!” he cried.</p><p>“Move!” Triss responded, and Geralt rolled out of the way. A protective bubble sprang up around him, then the words of Triss’s spell rang on the stone walls of the hall as a deep, vicious frost raced across the room. It made flesh solid, it stopped guards in their tracks. A panic broke out as those on the far side watched their fellows freeze before their eyes. But their desperate scramble to get out of the way only set them to tripping over each other, and the frost quickly overtook them.</p><p>The bubble around Geralt dropped, and his breath formed clouds in the chilly air. “Thanks,” he said to Triss as she shimmered into view, the invisibility spell wearing off.</p><p>“Don’t thank me yet,” she said. “Not until we find your bard.”</p><p>Geralt nodded, turning his attention back to the margrave, who had watched this spectacle unfold, glassy eyed, and was now simply staring at nothing. Geralt strode to him. “Take me to the bard.”</p><p>Horace nodded in a vague way, then slid off his throne and tottered out a door. Geralt and Triss followed, Triss with her hands cupped, spells at the ready. Geralt was impressed—the sorceress knew how to fight.</p><p>Most of the manor’s guards had been in the long hall, it seemed. They met few men as they walked along a corridor and down a flight of stairs. When they did come across someone, Horace’s presence gave them enough time for Geralt to dispatch the man quickly. Most were dead before they realized they were in a fight.</p><p>Horace led them down another flight of stairs, and then another. The air became chill, and the shadows closed in, with few torches to light their way. Finally, the stairway ended, and they stepped out into what was clearly a dungeon. Geralt sniffed the air. Mold, damp, human waste, but also a light, floral scent. A sweetness somewhere between a dandelion and a buttercup. <em>Jaskier</em>. Geralt was so close.</p><p>A lightly armored man sprang to his feet, looking curiously between Geralt and Horace. Geralt eyed the keys on his belt.</p><p>“Open the bard’s cell,” Geralt commanded. The man’s eyes widened, and he looked at Horace. Horace nodded. “I’m taking him to see the prisoner,” he explained, his speech slow and slurred.</p><p>The guard continued to look back and forth between them. “Now,” snarled Geralt. The man jumped, but finally fumbled at the keys on his belt. He walked to the very last cell, put the key in the lock, and pushed the door open.</p><p>Geralt shoved Horace in front of him as he made his way to the cell, steeling his nerve as he walked. Jaskier was here, that much was certain, but Geralt had no idea what condition he was in. If they were keeping him in this musty place, it couldn’t be good.</p><p>Horace preceded him into the cell, and Geralt had to shove him to get inside. Jaskier sat on the floor opposite, his head lolling, his arms roughly chained overhead. He wore only his breeches, which were smeared with grime. Dried blood coated his chin and chest.</p><p>A hot, boiling rage bubbled up in Geralt’s chest, fighting with the chilling fear that gripped his heart. He turned to Horace, who was vacantly staring at the bloodied bard. With one swift motion, Geralt brought up his sword and sliced the man in half.</p><p>Behind him, Triss let out a small gasp. Geralt nearly revised his opinion of her until he realized the gasp was for Jaskier, not the dead margrave. Triss rushed to his side, kneeling beside him and setting a potion vial to his lips.</p><p>Geralt turned and walked back into the hallway. The guard was still there—he clearly hadn’t yet noticed his master had been slain. “Keys,” Geralt demanded, holding out his hand.</p><p>“You-you can’t just t-take the keys,” the man stammered.</p><p>Geralt rolled his eyes and ran him through. As he pulled his blade out of the man’s belly, he ripped the keys from his belt. “Yes, I can.”</p><p>Back inside the cell, Geralt sheathed his sword and knelt beside Jaskier. He unlocked the cuffs binding his wrists, and Jaskier slid, unconscious, to the floor.</p><p>“Jaskier!” Geralt cried, sitting and pulling him into his lap. His skin was like ice, clammy and pale. Geralt clutched him close, hugging him to his chest. Suddenly, Jaskier cried out, a harsh wail of pain, and Geralt noticed too late the bruises covering his torso.</p><p>“What have they done to you?” Geralt’s voice came out choked and high. Triss gave him a pitying look.</p><p>But Jaskier turned crystal blue eyes to him, and a smile spread across his face, beautiful even under the crusted blood. “Geralt,” he breathed. “I knew you’d come.” Then his eyes rolled back and his head lolled.</p><p>Geralt gingerly scooped Jaskier into his arms, cradling him as gently as he could, and stood, Triss carefully helping to arrange Jaskier’s head and limbs so they didn’t dangle. Together they made their way out of the dungeon, up the stairs, and out of the manor. When they had walked a reasonable distance, Geralt turned back, and Triss did the same.</p><p>“Triss,” he said, “can you manage one more spell?”</p><p>“Of course.” She lifted her chin.</p><p>“Torch it. Make the blaze so big they can see it in Cintra.”</p><p>Triss raised her hands. “With pleasure.” She spoke a few words. A fireball engulfed the manor and rose, roaring, into the sky. The curling flames shot into the darkness, wrapping around every corner of the structure, pulling it apart at the seams. Triss clenched her fists and the flames glowed white, then blue, then nearly black. Even the stones crumbled to ash.</p><p>She turned to Geralt, tears brimming in her eyes. “Let’s get him somewhere warm,” she said.</p><p>Geralt nodded.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaskier’s world was pain. He was lost in a black void, where pain ripped through every part of his being. Did he still have a body? He must, for how else would he feel such torment? Distantly, he was aware he was breathing. Every breath was fiery torture, the pain tearing him apart afresh. Pain branded his wrists and ankles, and radiated from his jaw. Yes, he had a body. He wished he didn’t.</p><p>The comforting blackness of oblivion beckoned. Jaskier chased it readily.</p><p>The pain tore him from the blackness, made his vision go white and then red, it was splitting him open. Jaskier screamed, but this hurt too, so he stopped. But…something had changed. A smell hung in his nostrils, a smell of sweat and leather. He opened his eyes and looked into the face of his beloved, his savior. “Geralt. I knew you’d come.” He slipped back into oblivion, knowing now that everything would be all right.</p><p>When he next came to consciousness, the pain was still there, but it was somehow more tolerable. And there was something else, something different. Not cold stones and unforgiving steel. Not chilling damp. No, he lay, his arms at his sides, on soft sheets, a warm, fuzzy blanket tucked under his chin. A calloused hand gripped one of his own, softly stroking it.</p><p>Jaskier opened his eyes. He was in a small room, lit dimly by a fire. Herbs and flowers hung in strands from the ceiling. Jaskier was tucked into a wood-framed bed with daisies carved into the footboard. Beside him on a chair sat Geralt, his head hung low, unkempt white hair obscuring his face. His thumb traced circles over the back of Jaskier’s hand in an unending rhythm.</p><p>Jaskier smiled. He tried to speak, but the stab in his chest made him catch his breath. Geralt’s head snapped up, his eyes glowing like embers. Jaskier squeezed his hand.</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt leaned toward him, still caressing his hand. “You’re awake.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded. Somehow, not being able to speak was a blessing. Geralt had come for him. He had. Geralt had rescued him. Jaskier did not have words for the feelings this stirred. His joy made him want to sing, to dance, but his breath caught again, and he coughed, and the pain ripped through him again, <em>oh gods he was going to die</em>, and he coughed again. Geralt’s voice called frantically for Triss—Triss?—and this was the last thing Jaskier knew before the darkness closed over him again.</p><p>When Jaskier awoke again, he felt far, far more human. The first thing he did was take a breath, and, although the pain was there, it was a dull ache rather than a sharp stab, only a dim memory of what it had been. He blinked his eyes open and turned his head. He was still in the same room, still in the bed with the daisies, but Geralt no longer sat beside him.</p><p>No, Geralt lay in the bed, curled around Jaskier, one arm draped over the pillow above Jaskier’s head, his own white head bent to nestle in Jaskier’s neck.</p><p>Jaskier was glad he’d tested his breath because right now it was caught in his throat. Geralt had come for him, had rescued him from that horrible place, but also, oh, blessings, Geralt had <em>stayed</em>. Geralt was still here, beside him, in a posture that unmistakably showed that he cared.</p><p>Tears gathered in Jaskier’s eyes. He had spent months, years, actually, convincing himself that he was no longer in love with Geralt, that what they had was an abiding friendship, but now he knew it for the lie it was. He loved Geralt with every fiber of himself, with every breath and every thought. And Geralt had rescued him, had then tended him, and now lay protectively around him because, thank every last god, Geralt loved him too.</p><p>Jaskier should have gotten himself kidnapped long ago.</p><p>Geralt stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and golden eyes locked onto blue ones. “Jaskier.” He sat up slowly, careful not to disturb Jaskier. “How do you feel?”</p><p>Jaskier was grinning ear to ear, he couldn’t help it. He loved Geralt and Geralt loved him, what did a few broken ribs matter? “I feel <em>wonderful</em>,” he gushed.</p><p>Geralt frowned. “Triss?” he called. “I think he’s delirious.”</p><p>Right, Triss was involved somehow. She hurried into view, her features pinched with worry. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Jaskier shook his head. “I’m not delirious. I am curious why you’re here, however.”</p><p>Triss glanced at Geralt and back at Jaskier. “Geralt asked me to help get you out of that dungeon. I was happy to oblige. And you were so badly injured I’ve stayed to help you get well again.” She peered into his eyes. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugged. “Not bad, I suppose, considering.” He looked back and forth between them. “So you came to rescue me? Both of you?” He thought about this, the witcher and the sorceress, charging into the evil villain’s lair to rescue the wounded bard. “What was it like? Was there a great battle? Did you use magic? How did you find me? Ooooh, tell me <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>Geralt sighed and looked at Triss. “He’s fine.”</p><p>Triss cocked an eyebrow at grinned at Geralt. “I’ll leave you two to…discuss things, shall I?” She paused at the door. “Just call if you need me.” She slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.</p><p>Jaskier turned to Geralt. “Where are we?”</p><p>But Geralt leaned forward quickly and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s, kissing him fiercely, deeply, his tongue working into Jaskier’s mouth. Jaskier moaned and closed his eyes, raising his arms to wrap them around Geralt’s shoulders. Oh yes, <em>yes</em>, oh how he had missed this, how he had longed to taste Geralt again, how he had needed to know Geralt still wanted him as much as he wanted Geralt.</p><p>Geralt’s hands moved up to cup Jaskier’s face, and he broke the kiss for a moment, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Julian,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I thought…”</p><p>Jaskier’s brain ground to a halt. Since when did Geralt use his given name? “Geralt?” He pulled back to look into the witcher’s eyes.</p><p>“I thought I’d lost you.” Geralt’s gaze was both soft and fierce. “It’s taken you so long to wake. I thought you’d never return to me.”</p><p>“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier pushed a strand of white hair off Geralt’s forehead. “I will always return to you. I can’t help myself.”</p><p>Geralt shook his head. “And the last time I saw you, I was so harsh with you—”</p><p>“It’s forgotten, darling.” Jaskier bent Geralt’s head toward him and kissed his forehead. “It’s in the past. You’re here now. You rescued me. Nothing else matters.”</p><p>Geralt looked up, his eyes shining, those golden, liquid eyes, like sunlight on water, and Jaskier fell utterly, wonderfully I love all over again, the love he had held back and pushed down and shoved aside for so long, but now it welled up out of his heart, came spilling out of him, leaving tracks down his cheeks and falling with soft splashes into his lap.</p><p>Geralt ran a thumb over Jaskier’s cheeks, wiping tears away. “Don’t cry. I’m here now. You’re safe.” And it was all right that he misunderstood Jaskier’s tears, that he thought they fell from pain or fear, because he was right, he was <em>here</em>, right in front of Jaskier, finally, and his touch was gentle and his voice was soft, and even though Jaskier had no idea where in the world they were, he knew he was <em>home</em>.</p><p>Jaskier pulled Geralt to him and kissed him deeply, desperately, a fiery hunger awakening somewhere at the base of his spine and wending its way to his cock. Geralt drew in a breath, his tongue still in Jaskier’s mouth, and his kiss changed, and Jaskier suspected Geralt had scented his arousal, knew now how Jaskier ached for him. He bit Geralt’s lip and curled his fists around handfuls of Geralt’s hair, and Geralt growled, an animal noise, and climbed half on top of him, sliding one thigh in between Jaskier’s legs. Jaskier’s cock twitched in response, and he pressed his hips up and into Geralt, making sure Geralt knew how much Jaskier had missed him, how much he still wanted.</p><p>Geralt pulled away to trail kisses down Jaskier’s neck and across his chest, and Jaskier wondered for a moment whether their privacy in this unknown place was guaranteed, whether Triss might walk back in at any moment. But this and every other thought fell right out of his head when Geralt’s kisses moved lower, down his belly, and Geralt tugged both the blanket and Jaskier’s smallclothes off his cock, pushing them down to the daisy-adorned footboard. Geralt’s tongue slipped out and teased over the head of Jaskier’s cock, making Jaskier ache for more, but this slow buildup was such a blissful torture he didn’t push his cock straight into the back of Geralt’s throat, not quite yet. Geralt teased a few moments more, then, as if reading Jaskier’s thoughts, gave him exactly what he wanted, sliding his lips to the base of Jaskier’s cock, opening his throat to push its head as far back as it could go. Jaskier groaned and leaned his head back, thrusting into Geralt’s hot, wet mouth, but after only a few strokes Geralt pulled back, letting go of Jaskier’s cock and standing.</p><p>Jaskier forgave this affront only because Geralt began to undress, pulling off his shirt and sliding off his trousers, and Jaskier drank in the sight of him, his broad chest and large legs, his skin shining in the dancing firelight, his cock hard and jutting, its tip glistening. Geralt knelt on the bed again and leaned toward Jaskier. “How can I fuck you without hurting you?” he asked.</p><p>Jaskier snorted. “I don’t mind if you hurt me.”</p><p>“Jaskier.” Geralt’s brows drew up in a pained expression. Jaskier realized he meant he wanted to be careful of Jaskier’s injuries.</p><p>“All right. How about if I ride you? I won’t do anything that hurts.”</p><p>Geralt nodded and sat back against the headboard as Jaskier levered himself up. Jaskier stopped for a moment, his heart racing, as he gazed at the man before him. As always when they were apart, Geralt had picked up a few new scars, and, as always, they somehow only added to his beauty. His body was as hard and bulky as ever, the cords of his muscles rippling beneath his skin as he moved. His large cock was a deep crimson and purple, bobbing slightly with his desire. And his face, <em>oh, his beautiful, chiseled face</em>, Jaskier had dreamed so often of that stubbled jaw, those bowed lips, that divot in the tip of his nose, and his mesmerizing eyes, fixed on Jaskier.</p><p>With a sudden rush of breath, Jaskier leaned forward and kissed Geralt, a deep kiss like a duet with a triumphant harmony, climbing onto his lap as he did so. Geralt reached for a pot of oil on the table beside the bed—Melitele’s tits, had he been <em>planning</em> this while Jaskier was unconscious?—and Jaskier felt an oiled finger slide into him, slowly, gently. He groaned and leaned into it, and Geralt quickly added another finger, working them back and forth inside him, whetting the hunger growing in Jaskier’s belly. Geralt’s other hand came up to envelop his cock, calloused fingers wrapping gently around him, but a gentle touch was entirely insufficient, so Jaskier closed his own hand over Geralt’s and squeezed. Geralt smiled as Jaskier’s wishes became clear, and he began to stroke Jaskier with a firm grip, still working his fingers in Jaskier’s ass.</p><p>This was still not enough, not nearly enough. Jaskier needed to be filled, needed to overflow with Geralt, needed to sate the hunger deep in him beyond the reach of fingers. He grabbed Geralt’s wrist and pulled his hand away, then closed his fingers around Geralt’s cock, making the witcher draw in a hissing breath. Jaskier guided Geralt’s cock into him, seating himself fully on it, his eyes closing and his head tipping back as the hunger ceased its gnawing and began to feast.</p><p>As Jaskier began to move, Geralt sat fully up, and Jaskier felt the shift inside and outside. Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier, tenderly so as not to hurt him, and Jaskier was so unused to such gentle treatment, as though he were made of glass. But Geralt’s body was pressed against him, skin to skin, covering both his back and front, and the sensation of being so completely enveloped was overwhelming, Jaskier was drowning in it, being consumed by it. He wrapped legs and arms around Geralt and leaned his head back as Geralt began to stroke him, his fingers tight around Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier mimicked the rhythm with his own hips, working himself up and down Geralt’s cock, the feel of it sliding in and out of him as Geralt stroked him more than doubling the pleasurable sensations surrounding him.</p><p>His body had gone from the worst depths of pain to the highest heights of pleasure, and it was heady, dizzying, so much that Jaskier feared slipping away into dark oblivion again. Geralt must have sensed it, because he pulled him close, his mouth against Jaskier’s cheek, his voice a deep, purring hum. It grounded Jaskier, brought him back, and he opened his eyes to look into Geralt’s as he sped his rhythm. Geralt’s mouth fell open as his grip on Jaskier’s cock tightened, and Jaskier whispered, “Yes, love, come for me, come inside me.” The pulse of Geralt’s cock as he came sent a tingling thrill up Jaskier’s spine and pooled an aching heat in his cock, which Geralt had momentarily forgotten to stroke as he came.</p><p>But now Geralt was taking gasping breaths, regaining his senses, and looking back into Jaskier’s eyes as he remembered what he was doing. His cock remained hard in Jaskier’s ass—Geralt’s stamina had always been so useful—so Jaskier adjusted his position a bit to make it hit just that right spot inside of him, feeling a bit of sticky cum leak out of him as he did so, which stoked his passion even higher. Jaskier rode Geralt with fervor now, one hand on Geralt’s forearm as it stroked his cock, the other clinging to his shoulder, his nails digging into Geralt’s skin.</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt murmured, his eyes the color of honey, and oh, that did Jaskier in entirely, and he was gasping and moaning as he spurted across Geralt’s hand onto his torso. His hips continued to buck a few more times, until finally he rested, spent, against Geralt’s chest.</p><p>Geralt lay back, Jaskier sliding off him to collapse against the bed, and the dull ache shot through Jaskier, shocking him back to reality, his own human weakness, his own vulnerability laid bare once again. He gasped, one hand flying to his bruised ribs. Geralt’s brows creased, his eyes lightening to the color of butter, his lips pinched in a frown. “Did I hurt you?”</p><p>“No, no,” Jaskier said, wincing as he slowly shifted onto his back. “I just forgot for a moment to take things slowly.”</p><p>Geralt’s frown deepened, and he rose and left the bed, ducking around the strings of flowers hanging from the ceiling as he made his way to a small table littered with jars and pestles. Jaskier watched him, letting the pain in his side recede, focusing instead on the beauty of Geralt’s back—white hair spilling over broad shoulders, scarred skin shining with the sweat of their exertions, narrow waist leading to full, round ass, powerful thighs fuzzed with a bit of hair.</p><p>Then Geralt turned, a cup in his hand, and brought it to the bedside, kneeling to bring his face closer to Jaskier’s. “Drink,” he commanded, pushing the cup into Jaskier’s hand.</p><p>Jaskier peered into the cup. A thick, dark liquid swirled, its hues hinting at green. He sniffed. It smelled powerfully alchemical, flowers and herbs underlying an earthy tang and a bright, smoky shot of magic. “What is it?”</p><p>“A healing remedy.” Geralt nudged the cup toward Jaskier’s lips. “Triss has been making it for you, giving you sips as you slept. She says it speeds recovery.”</p><p>Jaskier’s eyebrows rose. “I think she’s right.” He raised the cup to his lips and sipped. The concoction burned, and tasted burnt as well. He choked, but still managed to swallow. He tipped the rest back quickly, eager to be done with it.</p><p>Geralt smiled as he took the cup back and set it aside. Then he climbed back into bed, pressing close against Jaskier, who wrapped his arms and legs around him, being mindful of his injuries.</p><p>Jaskier ran his fingers over Geralt’s skin, and Geralt sighed and closed his eyes, a smile on his lips. “So where are we? You never did say.”</p><p>Geralt’s eyes stayed closed, and Jaskier kept petting him as he responded. “The home of a hedge witch near Buina.”</p><p>Jaskier tried to make sense of this. “A hedge witch? You know hedge witches?”</p><p>“It was nearby,” Geralt replied. “I didn’t know her. I scented out the place after I rescued you. Triss paid her well for her accommodation of us.”</p><p>Jaskier didn’t understand that part, either. “Yes, why is Triss here, too?”</p><p>Geralt opened his eyes at this. “I needed help.”</p><p>“You? The White Wolf?”</p><p>“Horace used you as bait. His trap was obvious.” Geralt’s eyes darkened briefly. “Without Triss, I don’t think I’d have stood a chance.” His gaze searched Jaskier’s face. “Triss wiped Horace’s estate off the map for you. How, exactly, are the two of you acquainted?”</p><p>Jaskier shrugged. “Noble circles, you know.”</p><p>“I do not.”</p><p>Jaskier grinned. As much as Geralt liked to pretend he was common rabble, he’d called on a Brotherhood sorceress for aid, and she had agreed. “I must have met her when I was a child. I don’t rightly recall. By the time I remember knowing people, she was an old friend. She used to come visit me in Oxenfurt sometimes. She said my voice was a magic of its own.”</p><p>“Mm.”</p><p>Jaskier thrilled with pleasure. He recognized Geralt’s hum as a murmur of assent. So Geralt also found his voice to be magical. He brushed a lock of hair away from Geralt’s face, trailing his fingers behind it. His fingers found the chain around Geralt’s neck and the medallion that hung from it. Once, this medallion had taken Geralt from him. Geralt had left him so many times. “Geralt,” he said, surprised at the husky timbre of his own voice.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Don’t leave me again, all right?”</p><p>Geralt’s arms tightened around him. “I’m sorry. For leaving like that. Things were such a mess, and I was just—”</p><p>“I know, but…” Jaskier didn’t want to hear the excuses. “You keep leaving me, and it gets harder every time. I can’t stand it. I need to be with you. I love you. Do you understand?”</p><p>Geralt pressed his forehead against Jaskier’s. “I understand. I won’t do it again.”</p><p>Jaskier sighed. “You’d better not.”</p><p>And if a thread of doubt tightened in a knot in the back of his mind, he could ignore it, for now. He had wrung this promise from Geralt before, after all, but Geralt’s promise seemed to be less of a bond and more of a fleeting fancy, one he forgot as easily as he said it. Would Jaskier's capture away from Geralt's side change anything? Or would his human weaknesses, his inability to fight, remind Geralt of what a burden he was? Would Geralt decide, once again, to leave him behind? He might. And Jaskier was sure, if that happened, his heart would never mend.</p><p>But not tonight. Tonight, wrapped in Geralt’s warm arms, bathed in the fluids of their fucking, enveloped in Geralt’s leather-and-sweat scent, Jaskier’s heart was whole and full. Tonight, he could let himself believe Geralt, believe that they would be together always. Tonight, it was enough to love Geralt with every breath, and be loved in return.</p><p>Jaskier was with Geralt, and it was enough.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p><p>Wanna follow my fic? I'm on tubmblr: <a href="https://thetardigrape.tumblr.com/">thetardigrape</a></p><p>Kudos and comments always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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